Page 15 of Your Play to Call

Complete chaos never gets any easier. It’s a mix of people yelling, handing me things to sign, trying to take photos with everything from iPhones to massive professional cameras.

It’s exhausting.

Per my manager, I’ve not made any sort of statement—the plan was to be quiet and let this blow over. Well, so far that hasn’t happened.

Maybe it’s time to say something. Before the thought is fully formed, I can already hear my manager, mom, and my new coach scolding me.

Just when I think I’m in the clear, that I’m going to be a good boy and follow instructions, the least threatening of reporters grabs my attention. She’s clearly a journalist, with a professional microphone branded with her network. Maybe it’s because she talks to me at a normal level but when we make eye contact, I know I’m going to answer her question.

“Tripp, is it true you’re dating Willow? Care to make a comment?”

She tips the microphone to me, and I take a step forward. It feels like everything pauses, for a single second, when they realize I’m about to say something. The world feels like it’s moving in slow motion.

I did not think this through. What am I supposed to say?

Tripp, you fucking idiot.

Fuck.

The reporter looks at me and her eyebrows keep rising the longer I don’t say anything. I go with my gut and tell the truth.

“No, I’m not dating Willow.” The reporter goes to pull back the microphone and the chaos starts to rise again. I lightly pull the microphone to me.

“But I wish I was. If anyone can get a hold of her and pass that message along, I'd appreciate it.”

I smile into the camera as everyone’s mouth hangs open. They did not expect that.

To be honest, neither did I.

Chapter 11

Willow

I’m supposed to beworking on new music, not thinking about Tripp Owens. But he’s such a pleasant distraction.

I just finished the verse for a new song I’ve been playing with and the second the pen comes off the paper, my phone is in my hands. I’m a woman obsessed, unable to watch anything besides the clip. Clearly, I’m not the only one. It’s gone viral and has been posted on every entertainment and news outlet that has any interest in football or music.

Tripp. Trying to leave practice. Cheeks red from what I'm guessing was a shower. He’s in a simple gray athletic t-shirt and black athleisure shorts. The shorts have thatgoodinseam.

The first time I saw it, I couldn’t believe it. I’m not sure I believe it now.

Celebrities don’t do this. It’s all about keeping everything quiet, under the radar, even fake dating in public to throw the scent off your real partner.

Nonetheless, here’s one of the most popular NFL players, asking me out, and it’s been seen by millions of people.

My public relations team isn’t quite sure what to do. I told them to do nothing until I had a chance to think about it. They aren’t even allowed to say “no comment” until I wrap my brain around this.

The fire crackles and pops. The air is cold for an August night, and I have a thick blanket wrapped around my shoulders. My laptop sits on my lap with a discarded journal to the side of it.

Since my tour has ended, it’s alwayswhat comes next?I have a ton of music and songs written, but I’m a little nervous about getting my label on board. I usually share new music direction with them when I’m wrapping up the end of a tour, but I’ve kept all of these songs and pieces to myself. For the first time, I asked for a break.

“How many times have you watched that?” Emilie asks as she walks toward me, holding a beautiful arrangement of flowers.

“What’s all that?” I reference the bouquet and sidestep her question.

“I'm guessingloverboyhas some connections.” She sets them down on the patio table. “The envelope is sealed and there were instructions to leave it that way until this was in your possession. Security signed off so they know what’s going on.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says, wearing a massive grin like we’re in middle school and I’m about to read a love note that was left in my locker.